


The song of Achilles- The End?

by lightlyspiced



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:14:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25989550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightlyspiced/pseuds/lightlyspiced
Summary: So this is up already on my wattpad, but I just finished the song of Achilles and my heart was smacked into the ground.Written with the tears still drying on my face xxx
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (Song of Achilles)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 78





	The song of Achilles- The End?

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry in advance about any inconsistencies or anything in this- my eyes are literally blurry with tears :-)

'Go.' She said. 'He waits for you.' So, this piece is from the perspective of Achilles. I love these boys: so I'm sorry if the quality of this fic suffers from my teary eyes and broken heart xxx

\---------

The relief I felt as the arrow wormed it's way through my ribcage to nestle in my beating heart was the breaking of a storm. _It is over,_ I thought to myself. _All of it._ I was only half surprised to find myself very much still in the mortal world: demigod or not, I was still raised in the ways of the divine, and knew that my spirit would not rest until I was buried. The thought of mine and Patroclus's ashes mingling for eternity warmed whatever was left of me. 

Disinterestedly, I watched as the nymphs rose with the tide, emerging from the sea like salt spray on the coast. I could not feel their hands massaging oils into my body, because I could not feel anything. I heard their cries, however. They lamented my spirit, my courage, but above everything else, my beauty. I could not see it. But then again, the nymphs had never looked upon Patroclus, and could not compare to a dove when they had only seen the crow.

They burned my body; everything that I had spent time caring about, my acutely honed muscles, the curve of my jaw, the trails of my hair. Still, I could barely focus on them. My thoughts soared to Patroclus's warm eyes; I had drunk the nectar of the gods with my mother, but it's sweetness turned lemon-sour compared to the honey that lay there.

Lying deep in the pit of my consciousness, keeping pace with my every thought, was the gut wrenching guilt that still overcame me. I had nearly killed myself for it in my mortal body, yet still had not felt it as I should. I felt it now, now the constrains of a human mind were cast off, with all the force of a blow from the hammer of Hephaestus, down in his forgery. If I had hands, I would have strangled myself with them. But without so much as an anchor tethering me to life, it was all I could do to let the waves of it batter my mind. For although we would soon be reunited, Patroclus was dead. I still did not believe it. His laugh in my mind sounded more alive than anything had ever done, more than the twittering of the birds on Pelion, more than the thrill of the thousands of Greeks calling my name.

I saw my son for the first time as he arrived at the Greek camp, his red hair flowing down his shoulders like a wound. If I had expected to feel a rush of fatherly pride to overcome me, I would've been dissapointed. Not even that could distract me from my impatience, for the delay in my burial would also leave Patroclus untethered in the ether as I was. I owed him more than that.

Ionly began paying attention to my son in earnest when he asked why his father's ashes were not alone in their urn. He called Patroclus a servant, and if I had a voice I would have laughed. He was so young, I thought. He knows less than he thinks, yet more than he ought. The anger came later.

When he refused to have Patroclus's name carved on our tomb, I could have wrapped my fingers around his skinny neck and squeezed until his life slipped away under my fingertips. I knew what this would mean for Patroclus. Eternal exile from the underworld: he would forever wander, a lost soul in the mortal plain. Alone for eternity.

I watched helplessly as the artist began to carve the shapes of my name into the slate above where they had buried us. His chisel made quick and neat work of the sloping planes of the 'A' to the accute curve of the 'C'. But every click of his tools sent another bolt of nausea through me. This was a fate worse than death, because it meant eternity alone. I already felt a sort of responsibility for the years Patroclus had spent alone before we'd met. Knew how he curled up to my side at night, sleeping most peacefully when I wreathed him in my arms, because it gave him the security he'd never been granted as a child. I thought of him, forgotten by time, never hearing another voice.

The artist was on the final curve of the 'S' when I saw him, or the idea of him, curled around the tombstone. He clung to it, tracing the letters of my name with a shaking finger. I called out his name, but he did not hear me, and like the last crack of thunder at the end of a storm, my name was complete, and I was dragged kicking and screaming into the underworld.

I did not quiet when I landed at the side of the river Styx. I pounded at the craggy cliffs at the beginning of the underworld, grateful for some kind of actual form if only to unleash my rage onto it. The rage was powered by a sickness that seeped from the marrow of my bones and ricocheted off the walls of my exterior to bounce around me like a whirlpool. A few passing spirits turned their heads. I ignored them.

The ferryman was not used to being kept waiting. I did not watch as the dead pressed coins into his hands, buying their way into the realm of eternal rest. The weight of a coin in the purse at my belt meant nothing to me, because I could not rest when there was no Patroclus. If my guilt was a blow from Hephaestus before, it was now everything. It was the lick of Perseus's blade as he beheaded Medusa, it was the scream of Cronus as he was forced to vomit up every child he had consumed. It was every one of Zeus's bolts of lightning slamming into me at full force. I could no longer stand, so collapsed at the wall, and resolved to wait. 

I did wait. The ferryman watched me, when he was waiting for souls to take across the river, never speaking a word. I considered praying to my mother. 

'I am glad that he is dead.' 

Her words bought fresh anger into my mind. I had no idea how much time had passed, it seemed to come in rushes, nothing, then everything at once. The only constant thing was the arrival and departure of the ferryman as the river flowed steadily. I would not set foot on the boat without Patroclus. That was decided the moment that I had arrived down here, in this place of the dead and dying.

The bank of the river was not a place that most people stay long enough to describe. It is barren, even when bustling with the life of the dead. The ferryman had gone to and from the other bank of the river three hundred and twenty nine times, though I could not be sure that my counting had been correct. It could be infinitely less or more: I had no way to tell. I felt empty. I longed for something to pass the time, not out of boredom, but out of cold and unrelenting dread, the kind that drains the blood from your cheeks and the breath from your lungs.

His name whirled through my brain. _Patroclus._ I thought. _Patroclus. Patroclus. Patroclus._ And then, _I'm sorry_.

I knew I would give anything in that moment, anything at all, to see him appear in front of me. I would burn Troy, Greece, and every single divine being above or below the earth with my bare hands.

Someone heard me.

Someone heard me, because suddenly, standing at the side of the river, he appeared. Perhaps he looked as he might've done if he had remained a prince, rather than an exile. His hair, while still untameable, was filled with lustre, his slightly freckled skin gleaming with all the glory of polished bronze. To me he just looked like Patroclus.

I raised my voice to call out to him, but no words came out. The joy running through my veins in that moment did not allow for such a petty thing as a name. With all his mortal clumsiness, he turned his head this way and that like a frightened animal, and I let out a hysterical burst of laughter. His head turns at my voice, and his tear-reddened eyes find mine. And he smiles. And it is brighter than the sun.

We run at each other. Him, tripping at every step while I remain sure-footed. His knees give way moments before we meet, so I drop too, feeling everything at once as I capture his hand in mine. Neither of us are ready for words, so I kiss his hand, then his wrist, then realise that I am not nearly as close to him as I should be, and wrap him in my arms like vines around a tree. Our tears of relief mingle like rivers breaching the sea, limbs so tangled that they could belong to a single being. We are both dead, but I can hear my own heartbeat in my ears just as surely as I can feel his heartbeat in my own chest.

"I'm so sorry I kept you waiting."

I am still not ready for words, and just hug him tighter, rubbing soothing circles into his back as he sobs uncontrollably. The air sparks with the strength of out emotions. "

It must have been dreadful down here. Waiting must have been unendurable-"

"Not to me." I reply truthfully. "Not if it's for you." 

I had never lied to Patroclus, and certainly don't intend to start now. We break in each others arms, then build one another again, warmth pressing it's fingers to our skin, easing the aches from our hearts. 

Patroclus looks up at me, the sparks of want and mischief dance in eyes, boyish, before he presses my lips to his own. I realise a simple truth then, that I would never get used to this. Every time would be like the first time.

As I kneel there, cradling Patroclus in my arms, listening to his every breath, I realise that our eternity has not arrived at the end of our lives. It has always been the beginning.

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Yo! Sorry for the slightly poor quality and inconsistent knowledge in this one fellas. I needed to write this, and decided to post it because I hope it can help some lonely soul out there who is in the same position I am. I might end up rewriting this when I am not so emotional haha! Thank you so much for reading! xoxo

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this helps someone else in my situation after I read the book!! 
> 
> Much love to you all xxx


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